


Ask a Stupid Question...

by Chibiness87



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Newt introspection, The Author Regrets Nothing, This scene made me snort in the cinema so of course I had to fic it...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 16:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: Surely, the answer is obvious?





	Ask a Stupid Question...

**Ask a stupid question…** by **chibiness87**  
**Rating** : G  
**Spoilers** : The Crimes of Grindelwald  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine

* * *

“Why do you want your international visa reinstated?”

He blinks, wondering just how he is supposed to answer such an obvious question. There has to be a trick here, surely. Has to be some kind of trap. Words have never been his strong point, especially with other humans, and he opens his mouth to respond, only to pause for a second. He stares at them all, this panel of men which have his life in their hands, and at his brother especially, and stops the words that were on the tip of his tongue from escaping. Bits his lip for a moment. Thinks.

Thinks of New York, and all that happened there. Thinks of the people he met, the people he failed, and the friends he made. Thinks of Queenie and Jacob and Credence.

Of Tina.

Thinks of the way her eyes flicker and sway like no human eyes ever could, deep pools of water with a hidden spark of fire that speak to him in the same way that only salamanders do. Thinks of her soft voice, the awe on her face when she met Pickett and the mooncalves and Frank. Thinks of her face as they said goodbye on the docks, the smile she couldn’t quite hide when he utterly failed at being anywhere close to smooth and suave and asked if he might return to America. To New York. To her.

They had been conversing backwards and forwards for the first few months since he returned to England to start pulling his book together. The final title inspired by a glib comment she had made, but it had been so completely apt that he had taken it and had felt a smile cross his face when he had first seen the proof copy of his book. Months, years of work, and finally it was there, in print. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. It had only seemed right to continue to keep her informed of his progress, and other things besides.

So he wrote to her about his meetings with publishers and illustrators and editors. Little notes about a creature he had found that he thought she might like, a spell he had come across for healing. He wrote to her about his brother and the ignorance he was fighting. About mundane things like needing to buy a new shirt because his last one became a nest for the baby Nifflers. And for the first few letters he sent, she had responded. Nothing huge, but little tales of her own life. Her reinstatement as an Auror, the ongoing silence of Grindelwald. The new bakery that had opened, and the curious mix of creatures that continued to feature in the designs of pastries.

And then, suddenly, her responses had stopped. No warning, no explanation. Just a total and utter silence from her side of the wide ocean. He wonders if he had offended her somehow into silence, recalls the way he had been so annoyed at his brother to call Aurors hypocrites, forgetting for a moment she was now back within that fold.

But he hadn’t meant her. _Merlin’s beard_ , he hadn’t meant her. Of all the people he has ever met, male, female, magical and muggle alike, he has never met anyone quite so singular as her. She had been a breath of air, made him look up from his creatures for the first time in years. Since he was a child. Since Leta.

Leta. Cripes, he hopes she doesn’t think he’s still hung up on her. Not that there was anything really between them except a friendship that cost him his final years of schooling and almost his wand. But then, besides an old photograph Queenie saw, how would she even know she exists? He certainly hasn’t brought her up, ever, and so _no_ , he thinks, _no, that can’t be it_ , and he pushes the thought aside.

It had taken him three further attempts of sending letters and getting no returns, not even the letters unopened sent by return owl, before he got the hint she was so obviously sending, and had stopped sending the letters he continued to write. Because he hasn’t stopped. Notes upon notes lie in a pile on a shelf in his work shed, the only thing of order in a world of chaos, sat next to a wrapped package containing a book. The copy of _her_ book, because despite everything, despite her lack of contact and obvious desire to never speak to him again he had promised her a copy and he is not one to go back on his word.

He had also promised to give it to her in person. A promise which, thanks to his current travel ban, is proving somewhat difficult to fulfill.

So of course he wants the ban lifted. Of course he does. He wants to go back to New York, to find out what this sudden silence really means. Wants to hear it from her own mouth that she wants nothing more to do with him, if that really is the case. Wants to apologise for the stupid comment about Aurors, and for New York, and for anything and everything else he can think of, if only to see her again.

Wants to see her salamander eyes, eyes which, no matter how much he stares at the cutting in his case, newsprint just cannot replicate.

And if, Merlin forbid, there is a different reason for her silence, well, he wants to be in on that too. If she has gotten in over her head, been sent away on a mission only for it to go awry, he wants to know. If a rescue mission is needed, he wants to be on it. Cannot bear the thought of her being imprisoned somewhere against her will when he has the best lock-picker in the world as a constant companion.

Sitting there now, he wonders what his brother would say, if he said any of that.

Wonders how much his brother will believe him, will stand by his side.

He looks across the table, and sees Theseus the Auror, Theseus the war hero, not Theseus the brother, and bites his tongue, instead turning to face the rest of the panel.

Why does he want his visa reinstated? Surely, surely the answer is obvious.

Only just refraining from rolling his eyes, he all-but bites his response out. Slowly, carefully, like he is spelling each word out separately, like he is speaking to a very young child, he says, “To travel internationally.”

* * *

End

Thoughts?

 


End file.
